


Peculiar Habits

by thedevilwearsdocmartins



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gay Panic, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, John Watson is a Saint, Love Confessions, M/M, Morse Code, One Shot, Requited Love, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilwearsdocmartins/pseuds/thedevilwearsdocmartins
Summary: John Watson picks up on a new habit of Sherlock's.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 192





	Peculiar Habits

The first time I heard it was after a crime scene.

Lestrade had called us out around midnight to investigate the death of a runaway bride, killed on the night of her wedding. Naturally, despite it being pitch black and freezing outside, Sherlock dragged me out of bed to examine the body with him. I had no choice but to comply.

The case was solved in a matter of minutes, of course. The bride had abandoned her fiancé to meet with a secret lover. Together, they eloped and shared a bottle of wine afterwards. The secret lover, however, was only after the woman's ample fortune and promptly dispatched her with a cyanide pill dissolved in her wine glass. An outlandish story, but Sherlock was right.

On the cab ride home, overcome with sleep, my head bobbed gently to rest on the jut of Sherlock's shoulder. His body tensed for a moment before he allowed his chin to rest on the top of my head.

"Sherlock?" I asked, his answer a rumbling hum in his throat. "How did you get to be so brilliant?"

He scoffed, a huff of air blowing across the tip of my ear. "It was an easy case, John. The diamond in her necklace was of heirloom quality; only someone frustratingly rich could afford one so large. Plus, cyanide leaves particularly unique residue when mixed with wine. You would have seen it too if you weren't so tired."

I laughed. "Unfortunately my knowledge of poison residues is nowhere as extensive as yours."

"Comes from practice," his smile was evident in his voice."Being married to your Work has a lot of," the smile dropped, "perks."

"Of course," I hummed, shifting closer to him in order to share body heat in the cold cab. He groaned, reaching around me to wrap his Belstaff around us. 

As comfortable silence filled the space between us again, I was able to hear the gentle tapping of Sherlock's fingers against the door. I guess even Sherlock Holmes has a nervous habit. 

...

The next time was during dinner at our flat. We had ordered take-away from a nearby Chinese place after a long day of chasing criminals. Sherlock had offered to pick it up as an apology for making me keep up with his long strides. The git must've been a runner in high school; his speed was unmatched. 

When he returned, he looked annoyed. More annoyed than usual that is. His eyes squinted and eyebrows knitted together in exasperation.

"What happened this time?" I inquired, helping him out of his coat. "Did they give you beef instead of duck again?"

"No, but that would have been arguably more frustrating. We go there every week and they can't remember the simple fact that I hate beef?" He rolled his eyes and followed me into the kitchen. "It must be so boring in their empty little heads."

"Not everyone can be as great as the amazing Sherlock Holmes," I teased. "So what happened?"

"Oh it was awful. The man at the till attempted to court me."

I nearly choked on my rice. 

"Yes, my thoughts exactly, John."

"He flirted with you?"

"Yes, do keep up."

"And this is so horrible... why?" I motioned with my chopsticks. "Was she ugly?"

"No, _he_ wasn't particularly unattractive. I'm not that shallow," he answered and I glared at him. "I'm not!"

"Then what was the issue?"

"My heart belongs, as you say, to my work."

"Ah yes, of course," I smirked. "And Janine."

"Oh John don't be tedious."

"Okay fine. But you have to know that you're very attractive. Anyone would want to be with you."

He paused mid-bite, contemplating his next move. He opted to set the piece of duck down before responding. 

"Shut up."

There was a tangible pain in those words. A sadness rarely present in Sherlock's voice. I knew not to press him any further. 

And, in the silence, there was tapping. His chopsticks hitting the wood of the table in a pattern short and long movements. 

...

It was a perfectly normal day when his tic happened for the last time. He was in the kitchen, staring into his microscope at a bullet shell from his most recent crime scene. Normally, I have left him to his experiments, but today, I brewed a cuppa and joined him at the table with the morning paper. 

Really, the paper was just a prop, a simple curtain between us. Even so, I could feel his eyes drifting across my face in brief passes, scanning it before returning to his work. 

And then he started tapping again. 

This time I listened. 

Whenever he tapped, it was always the same pattern: Two short- a space- one short, one long, two short- a space- three long- a space- three short, one long- a space- one short- a space- one long, one short, two long- a space- three long- a space- two short, one long. The pattern would repeat itself over and over again until Sherlock made the decision to stop his mindless fidgeting. 

But nothing with Sherlock is unintentional. Everything he does has a purpose, even this. 

The realization hit me like a bullet: This wasn't a nervous tic; it was a message. A message meant for me. But what does it mean?

As I focused my mind on the tapping, I remembered my military training. We learned Morse code in order to communicate on the field. I never actually used it, but I remembered it.

When his pattern restarted, I was ready to decipher his message. 

Two short taps: I

One short, one long, two short: L

Three long: O

Three short, one long: V

One short: E

I paused. My breath caught in my throat and my heart beat erratically. 

One long, one short, two long: Y

I didn't need to hear the rest. I knew what he was saying: Sherlock loves me.

The paper slipped from my hands as I gaped at the man in front of my like a fish. He looked up at me, his face unreadable. 

"You know I know Morse code, right?"

He blanched. "You. You do?"

"Of course I do, you git."

His face was blank, like a computer running an error message. All of his internal processes were shut down. I shook my head and laughed affectionately before tapping out my own pattern:

_I love you too_

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first fic on AO3! Just wanted my boys to be happy :)


End file.
